Authors: Melissa Foster
“You’re not?”
Now I feel stupid
.
“I love you. I do, but I’m not a kid. I know what trouble it would cause for you to leave your husband and come to New York, or for me to come back to Forrest Town—I’d never survive. It’d be my body they found next in the river.”
“Don’t say that,” I said.
“It’s true.”
How we’d gone from bein’ apart to bein’ this close in one evenin’, I had no idea. We drank our hot cocoa, then walked the rest of the way home in silence. The lights were on in the apartment. Maggie was home. A relieved sigh blew through my lips. I didn’t want to be in the position to have to decide where to go from there.
Jackson took my hands in his.
“What now?” I asked.
“Now, we work to make things better for the folks back home.”
“Right, through your mama. But—”
Jackson put a finger to my lips. “Don’t. I know what happened. She told me.”
“But you told her—about us? How could you?”
“How couldn’t I? I trust Mama. She raised me. She loves me.”
“She hates me.”
Jackson shook his head. “She hurts
for
you. She knows there was no way we could be together, but I needed to tell someone.” He looked down, rubbed the back of his neck. “The hurt was so deep, Alison. I wasn’t eatin’, wasn’t sleepin’. Mama knew without me tellin’ her. All I did was confirm who I was pinin’ for.”
I wanted to run away and hide in a hole. His mother knew how much I had hurt him. I was just as bad as Jimmy Lee. I’d hurt one of her boys. What would my own mother think?
Jackson touched my cheek. “Alison, now we go back to our lives. You have your baby, I have my life.”
I was thrown right back into that night at the creek, when I chose Daddy’s love over him. Fear tiptoed up my nerves and clasped around my heart. That all-consumin’ emptiness I’d felt as he walked away shrouded around me. I squeezed his hand; my heart pullin’ my lips toward his, my mind tellin’ me to beware. I shook my head. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
His eyebrows drew together. Jackson shook his head, his confusion stretchin’ between us like a bridge I wanted to cross.
I pulled him gently toward me and kissed him, long and slow, like he’d kissed me all those months ago. His hands slid around my waist, my pregnant belly pressin’ against him. I ran my hands up the back of his neck, feelin’ the pulse of his heart against me. The world fell away. “I want to be here with you,” I whispered.
He kissed my cheek, my neck, then whispered in my ear, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I can’t promise, but I can try,” I whispered. All I knew was that I wanted to be right there forever. I never wanted to go back to Forrest Town. I didn’t want to see, much less be with, Jimmy Lee. I didn’t want to watch Jake vyin’ for Daddy’s attention, or see the hurt look in Daddy’s eyes when I spoke of Maggie. I didn’t want to think about Clara bein’ forced into a sexual relationship with Jimmy Lee’s uncle, that would lead to the death of her husband and her fleein’ from her family and friends to save her own life. I wanted to remain in New York, in Jackson’s arms, far away from the reality of life that scraped at my very bein’ every second of the day.
The doorknob rattled, startlin’ me out of my fog. I stepped away from Jackson.
“There you are, Pix!” Maggie was dressed in an oversized t-shirt I didn’t recognize and cotton pants. “I was worried. Jackson, did you take good care of my little sis? Wanna come in?” She swung the door wide open.
My cheeks burned as I slipped by her and into the apartment. I sat on the couch, my arms wrapped around my middle, and my heart tied in knots.
The week after I returned from New York, I was settin’ out the chocolate pie Jean had made, when there was a rap at the back door of the diner. It was Friday, and I grabbed a lollipop from the counter and headed toward the back door, lookin’ forward to the one happy moment in my world of disappointment. Jimmy Lee hadn’t asked me about my trip, and he hadn’t been spendin’ much time at home. Seein’ the little boy’s face light up would be a real treat.
I pulled the door open and Mrs. Johns stood before me, her thick middle bubblin’ over the belt of her dress. I blinked a few times, lookin’ from side to side, our previous confrontation rushin’ back. My heart slammed against my chest as if seekin’ escape.
She dropped her eyes to my swollen middle.
I put my hand over my belly. “Ma’am?”
She reached into her purse, shakin’ her head and pursin’ her lips.
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God
.
She took a step toward me, leanin’ in so close that I could smell the coffee on her breath. She took my hand in hers, then curled my fingers around somethin’ and pressed in tight. “Be careful,” she whispered. She turned and hurried down the steps, disappearin’ around the side of the buildin’.
“Was there an order?” Jean asked from behind me.
I slipped my hand into the pocket of my uniform. “Uh, no, she was mistaken. Her husband didn’t order anything today, I guess.” I kept my back to Jean, worried my eyes might reveal my lie.
As Jean’s footsteps retreated, I hightailed it into the bathroom and locked the door. The sealed envelope was small and stained. I ran my fingernail along the underside of the flap and withdrew the single-paged letter. I brought the paper to my nose and inhaled, hopin’ for a scent of Jackson. There was none.
Dear Alison,
I know you’re scared, afraid you’ll be caught writing to me, or that Mama will be caught giving you the letters. Have faith. Be strong. I will wait as long as I have to, until your trying can become your promise.
Love, Jackson
Jean jiggled the doorknob. “Alison? I gotta go, hun.”
“I’ll be right out.” I looked around the tiny bathroom and saw no place to hide the letter. Afraid of bein’ caught with it, I tore it into tiny pieces, wrapped it in toilet paper, and flushed it down the toilet.
For days I’d wished I’d kept the letter, if only to see the easy slant of his handwritin’ or to be sure I remembered each word correctly, but gettin’ caught weighed heavily on my mind. I watched the face of every person who came into the diner, and watched Jean for an inklin’ of her knowin’ the truth.
Main Street was empty as I walked toward my apartment. I had no idea if I could safely send letters to Jackson, but it didn’t matter. I was high on the fact that he hadn’t forgotten about me or moved on, or even hated me for what I’d done before.
Mama was expectin’ us for dinner at five thirty, and Jackson’s letter had filled me with purpose, strengthenin’ me over the days since receivin’ it. I felt as if I might finally be becomin’ a woman rather than a little girl goin’ home to see Mama and Daddy.
Six o’clock came and went, with no sign of Jimmy Lee. I phoned Mama to let her know we’d be late, and she said she’d hold dinner for us. Each passin’ minute fueled my annoyance. Between Jimmy Lee’s drinkin’ and his disregard for me, I'd wondered if he’d show up sober for the sake of my parents. I hadn’t thought he would not show up at all.
I dialed the furniture store’s phone number and asked Mr. Kelly if I could speak with Jimmy Lee.
“Oh,” he said with surprise. “Hold on just a moment, please.”
Silence stretched long and painful. Just when I thought he’d forgotten about me, Mr. Kelly came back to the phone. “Alison, did you speak to Mr. Carlisle the last time you came in?”
“No.” I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice, and failed miserably.
“I think you need to speak with your husband about his whereabouts.”
What did he think I was
tryin’
to do? “Yes, thank you. Is he there?”
“No, he’s not.” He paused, then hissed into the phone, “Perhaps you should try The Waterin’ Hole.”
The line went dead.
The Waterin’ Hole?
I stared at the telephone, as if it held the answers of my husband’s whereabouts. The Waterin’ Hole was the nastiest bar around. Located at the edge of town, it was rumored to be where bored husbands went to fill their sexual needs with some of the dirtiest, lowest women in Forrest Town. It was too far to walk at that time of night, but even if it was closer, I wouldn’t stoop so low as to go traipsin’ after my husband like the pathetic wife, even if I was startin’ to feel that way. No, I couldn’t believe it. There was no way Jimmy Lee would lower himself to that. He wasn’t bored. I was home all the time, with dinner ready, and a clean house. I wasn’t sure what made me feel sicker—that I was always home waitin’ for him or that he might actually be with another woman.
I dialed my parents’ number and told Mama we would not make it for dinner after all. I feigned fatigue and said Jimmy Lee was workin’ late. The more I thought about where he might be, the easier it became to believe him that he’d been spendin’ time with Corky. They both like to drink and chase coloreds. That thought didn’t sit any better in me than him bein’ with some nasty other woman.
“Do you want me to come by with some dinner for you?” Mama asked.
“No, I’m just gonna go to bed.”
“Are we still bakin’ tomorrow?”
Damn, I’d forgotten
. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there ‘round noon.”
That night, I penned my first letter to Jackson. I had no idea if he would receive it or not, and I knew if Jimmy Lee found out we’d both be dead, but with hurt coursin’ through my veins, and nowhere else to point my anger, I let it fuel my writin’.
Dear Jackson,
I’m changing. I can feel it in everything I do. When I serve meals at the diner I can barely look into the eyes of the men who I know have made things hard for the people of Division Street. When I inhale, there’s a charge of hope in the air that I’m sure only I can feel, and that pulls me forward and takes me to the next task at hand. I want things to be different for my baby—I want things to be different for me, and yet, I know how selfish that sounds, but as much as integration will change things for coloreds, it carries over into a freedom that impacts everything in life for all of us, and I look forward to that change.
I’m seeing Daddy this weekend, and I pray I’ll be strong enough to start being myself, instead of his little girl. I’m not sure if you can understand that, but I don’t know how else to say it.
Stay safe.
Love always, Alison
The faintest outline of dark circles shadowed Mama’s eyes as she rolled the crust for the pecan pie.
“Mama?” I asked.
She stopped rollin’, wiped her brow with her forearm, and lifted her eyebrows in answer.
“Can I talk to you about somethin’?”
Mama set down the roller and pulled out two chairs from the kitchen table. I sat down, fidgetin’ with a dishtowel. My father’s tractor roared as it neared the house. Jake sauntered into the kitchen.
“Alison, wow, you’re as big as a house,” he said, and grabbed an apple from a bowl on the counter.
“Thanks,” I said, wishin’ he hadn’t come in so I could talk privately with Mama.
“Hey, what do you think of this?” Jake placed a hand-drawn picture of our farm on the table, every detail precise, from the cracks in our front porch to the perfect dips and mounds of plantin’s in the fields. He’d drawn the entire picture with a pencil, shadin’ each crevice to the n
th
degree.
I picked up the paper and looked closer. “Jake, this is amazin’.”
Mama sat back with a smile across her lips. “He’s good, isn’t he?”
“More than good. Jake, how did you learn to do this?”
He shrugged. “Mama showed me a few things.”
“Mama, really?”
Pride filled Mama’s eyes. “He’s a natural. I just showed him a thing or two, tweakin’, you know. He’s really gifted.”
“Have you shown Daddy?” I asked.
I caught a wave of discomfort pass between them. Jake reached for the picture as the noise of the tractor quieted. Jake folded his drawin’ and shoved it in his back pocket as the screen door creaked open.
My father crossed the kitchen and lifted me to my feet, then bent down and hugged me close. “I’ve missed you. You look radiant. How’s my grandchild?”
I blushed. “Fine, Daddy.”
“You look just as beautiful as your mother did when she was pregnant with you.”
Mama pushed her hair behind her ear, revealin’ a flirty grin, then went back to work on the pie crust.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
He smacked Jake on the back. “About ready to go into town?”
Jake’s mouth tightened.
“Daddy, have you seen—”
“Alison, come help me,” Mama interrupted.
“Uh, okay,” I said, confused.
Jake gave me a harsh look. “C’mon, Daddy, let’s go.”
“Wait. I gotta get a drink for the crew.” My father grabbed a big, plastic pitcher from the cabinet and ran the water in the sink.
“I’ve got ice water ready for them in the fridge,” I said.
“This’ll be fine,” he said.
“Daddy, why don’t you give ‘em the cold water? They’d probably appreciate it.” I spoke before thinkin’, and Daddy turned and looked at me like I’d spoken another language all together. “I mean, it’s not that cool out, and they’ve probably been workin’ for hours and all.”
“Why don’t you let me worry ‘bout the farmhands, and you worry ‘bout the pies, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy. Sorry.”
Mama shook her head. If I hadn’t been lookin’ to her for support, I might have missed it. I mixed the sugar and butter in a large bowl, annoyance tightenin’ my nerves until I had to speak.
“Daddy, why don’t I take the water out? I don’t mind gettin’ the water with ice.”
“Alison Jean,” Daddy said, leavin’ no room for negotiation.
I stirred the butter until it was creamy, faster, harder, pourin’ my energy into it as I gathered the courage to take a stance. I took a deep breath and turned to face Daddy, holdin’ onto the back of a chair for support. “Daddy, they deserve ice water. It’s just ice. It’s not like you’re cookin’ ‘em dinner.”
Mama set her hand on my shoulder, pressin’ gently.
My father narrowed his eyes. I thought of Maggie, and Jackson, and every person in the Panther meetin’, and I held his stare, white knuckles wrapped around the edge of the chair.